


Soul Searching

by Philosopherscribe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Activist Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Auror Ron Weasley, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, Dobby (Harry Potter) Lives, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25345894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosopherscribe/pseuds/Philosopherscribe
Summary: Written for @romioneficfest 2020 on Tumblr.Prompt: Hermione admits she was wrong.Brief summary: Hermione admits the way she went about house-elf rights when she was younger wasn’t quite how she should have handled things.Any possible triggering/warning tags: None.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Soul Searching

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. 
> 
> Many thanks to @aprofessionalprotagonist for beta reading this fic!! Your insight into Ron’s characterization was extremely helpful. 
> 
> This is very AU and contains an in-depth discussion of house-elf rights. I also changed it a bit since the ficfest.

“You know, Ron,” she whispered softly, “you were right and I was wrong.”

Blimey, the Hermione Granger he knew never admitted she was wrong! He could feel his mouth hanging open. And she’d said it with such a straight face!

“Um, are you a pod person? Did you take over my girlfriend’s body last night?” They had watched a Muggle movie called _The Invasion of the Body-Snatchers_ a couple days ago.

Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored him. 

“I stand by my position that house-elves have a right to freedom,” she explained, “But I was wrong to try and hide those hats in the Gryffindor common room and trick the school house-elves into picking them up. And you were right to call me out on it. It was underhanded and very patronizing of me. I never asked them what they wanted, not even once. I fell short of my high ideals of equality and fairness and justice and...No wonder they were all so offended!”

Ron’s mouth closed with an audible snap.

“Don’t feel too bad, sweetheart,” he said gently, “everyone fucks up. I reckon we’ve both got a lot to learn about house-elves. I didn’t even see how rough they had it until you pointed it out! And I was a right prat about ‘em for a long time.”

The words seemed to calm her down. A small hand slipped into his as they walked along the beach of Shell Cottage. The setting sun blazed and glistened the scarlet and gold of Gryffindor, like a phoenix soaring over the horizon.

“House-elves _are_ oppressed,” Hermione mused, “and any legitimate movement for social change must center their struggle and prioritize their right to self-determination. But I should have known better than to think I knew better than them. I see now that I have no right to tell them what their liberation should look like, or what their relationship to their traditional occupation should be.”

She sighed, and placed her hands over her temples. “As a witch and member of the very class that oppresses them, I was way out of line. And I honestly don’t know how to fix it.”

“Hermione, we’ve been over this before,” Ron said patiently, “you can’t be right all the time. No one can! And sometimes, there are no easy answers. Life isn’t a textbook, y’know, it doesn’t come with an answer key at the back. Even the house-elves don’t seem to agree what’s best for ‘em. And y’know, we wizards and witches are so loud we kind of drown ‘em out.”

They were silent for a while. Ron knew she was thinking about Dobby’s near-death at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. But the elf had largely recovered from his injuries, thanks to the devoted care of Harry and surprisingly, Winky. Dobby and Winky had hated each other for a good long while, due to their vastly different stances on house-elf rights. Still, Dobby was a war hero. Their friendship had helped Winky sober up and get over being dismissed by Mr. Crouch. Ron still didn’t get why she was so hung up over the crusty old geezer in the first place, but he was glad to see she’d finally moved on with her life.

Hermione gave him a watery smile. “Dobby and Winky’s political stances are not as opposed as they seem. Both of them support better working conditions for their people, and neither of them condone actual abuse at the hands of humans. It’s just that Winky has a lot of pride in her people’s traditional occupation of domestic labor. And we have to admit that labor has value, and is important! Essential, even. Most of the wizarding world runs on it.”

“I mean, only rich people can afford house-elves,” Ron reminded her, “my family hasn’t had one in like, ages. But Hogwarts would be shot without ‘em, that’s for sure. And I’m pretty sure the Malfoys would starve to death.”

“Isn’t it odd how much of the wizarding world can be so dependent on another race of beings and yet so contemptuous of them?” Hermione wondered. “The Death Eaters didn’t emerge in a vacuum. The systems of oppression that produced them are still with us in the form of violence against house-elves, Muggle-borns, werewolves, and goblins.”

His girlfriend used a lot of big words, especially when discussing her grand social theories about the world. But Ron always got the gist of what she was saying, he’d been around her long enough.

“Hermione,” Ron said in a low voice. “You got seven Os on all your NEWTS! Seven Os. You could be anything you want! But you always said you wanted to do some good in the world. So why don’t you make SPEW a full-time thing and fight for the rights of these people? I think you’d be good at it. You’ve just gotta make sure you involve ‘em and stay in touch with what they want.”

She looked up at him, startled.

“You don’t think it would be stupid?”

“Of course not! I became an Auror for you, remember? And I’d work double-time to support you if that’s what it took.”

He couldn’t really blame his girlfriend for doubting him on this stuff. Sometimes, Ron still wondered what she saw in a boor like him. He’d been such a git to her. Ron felt twinges of shame for the things he’d said about SPEW before the war. Auror training taught him hatred was a real powerful source of Dark magic. You-Know-Who... _Voldemort’s_ soul had been a slimy, rotten, maggot-filled cesspool of hatred. No wonder the twisted old snake had wanted to tear it apart. 

George had offered to make him a partner at the joke shop. Ron figured he’d stick to the Auror Corps, though it was awfully good of his brother. Hermione had never really approved of the shop. And it had all worked out in the end. George had settled on none other than Remus Lupin, who’d also survived the war, for the position. He was very pleased and more than a little impressed at the chance to work with a Marauder.

Losing Fred had felt like losing a limb. Ron grit his teeth and let the pain fuel him for his next round with the Death Eaters. He’d root ‘em out with all the moves he’d learned from chess, and take ‘em on like the knight he’d been on McGonagall’s old chess set. Hermione was right—there was a lot of Death Eater scum still around! And it was time to make a name for himself. The war had really sealed it for him: Ron was done living in everyone else’s shadow.

“I swear, Hermione,” he growled, “I won’t rest until every single Death Eater and all the fuckers who sucked up to ‘em are brought to justice.”

Hermione glowed, her face all soft and shimmery like moonlight and unicorns and all that mushy and dramatic bullshit he didn’t get. “I know you won’t.”

She curled into him. His face was so warm, he could feel it turning as red as his hair. Ron swallowed hard as her eyelashes tickled his neck. And he held her to his chest, feeling for all the world like one of the knights in the bedtime stories his mum used to tell him. It was a damn fine feeling, he decided.

“I think I’m going to take your advice,” she said after a few minutes, “my parents want me to apply for a post in the Ministry, but I think it’s as much my calling to be an activist as it’s yours to be an Auror.”

The sparkling stars reminded Ron of a diamond in a wedding ring. 

“I have another confession to make,” Hermione said in a light, breathy little voice. 

“Oh, yeah? Tell me what’s up.”

“When we were at school, I had a crush on you for so long that I was afraid of what would happen when we finally got together. My greatest fear was that we didn’t share the same values, and that it would drive us apart. I don’t have that fear anymore.” 

“I was afraid of fucking us up, too,” he admitted quietly. The thought of losing his girl, of losing Hermione, made him feel slightly nauseous.

“There’s a Muggle saying I once read in a book,” she murmured in his ear. “Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” 

Ron thought back to the final battle of Hogwarts, when he’d been the one to remember the house-elves and warn them to leave the kitchen for their safety. They’d all risked their lives and fought valiantly to bring down Voldemort. Hermione was a real tough witch for a bloke to impress, but he knew he’d got through to her that night. He thought of how proud he and Hermione both were of their best mate Harry, who’d fulfilled the prophecy and become the first DADA Professor in ages to last more than a year in the post.

“Well, sweetheart, that sure does sound like us.”

Hermione beamed brightly up at him. “Thank you, Ron. Thank you for supporting me in the cause we both believe in.” 

The sun slipped over the horizon, and blue water splashed onto the powdery white sand of the beach. Hermione’s face turned up like a pretty flower in spring, and she raised her lips to his. Ron felt his mind go blank at her soft gasp, the sweet taste of her cherry-red mouth. He didn’t want to ruin it by talking, so he swept her clean off the ground, just as he’d done for their first kiss. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck. Her wavy brown hair danced in the wind, smelling all sweet and fresh like new parchment and mowed grass and the brand of perfume he’d bought her long ago. And she giggled into the kiss. Ron had wanted this for half his bloody life, but he knew then he’d never get enough.

  
  



End file.
